


to falter

by aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm



Series: you are my obsession [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bad Touch Chancellor, Creepy Ardyn, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, Love/Hate, M/M, Masturbation, Mild mentions of cannibalism, One-Sided Attraction, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Twisted love triangle, Underage Character(s), Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Thoughts, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10403595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm/pseuds/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm
Summary: Sometimes, you hate him.You loathe his very existence; you detest the very thing-the very being that made you into this shell of whom you used to be, this man that lives in constant awe of this unremarkable boy that does nothing different from the other thousands, no, millions of unremarkable people that populate this wretched world.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hellyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellyfish/gifts).



> Hello everyone!!!! I'm back with a continuation to this series and the one shot I promised to the lovely Hellyfish <3 Gurl this is for you, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Also, thisisludicrous if you read this know that this was inspired by that conversation we had in 'to surrender' so I hope you appreciate this as well (and recognizecertain scenes hue hue) <3

Sometimes, you hate him.

You loathe his very existence; you detest the very thing-the very being that made you into this shell of whom you used to be, this man that lives in constant awe of this unremarkable boy that does nothing different from the other thousands, no, millions of unremarkable people that populate this wretched world. This man that dreams when he no longer has the need to, this man that has not dreamt in a hundred years and had thought he had lost the ability to do so a long time ago. This man that used to hate everything, cares for very little, is interested in much less but now here he is, trapped in a limbo, trapped in a not quite entranced kind of state merely because some child with a pretty face laughed,  and somehow , that changed everything.

He laughed and this pathetic excuse of a man was born. This man that aches for a glimpse of teeth, that continues to search for that curve of the boy’s mouth, this man that burns with intensity- was burned in a small coffee shop due to a simple touch, a simple meeting of fingers and palms that led him to see what he had not wanted to see: this innate hunger for the little runaway experiment, for this boy who was nothing more than anyone else, who **is** nothing special. Ironically, he **must** be special in a way. Otherwise, why would this man suddenly yearn for things he has not yearned for in ages, why would he reduce himself to the type of man he swore to never be (a mess of vulgar and basic longings he had thrown away and had not really needed until now), why would he become a slave to his own shameful desires awakened by this skinny teenager who has not grown out of puberty yet?

The thing is… the problem lays in the fact that he is not actually relevant in any form. Prompto Argentum is-asides from a couple of details that might help you in your endeavors- a pretty common individual. He’s a source of conflict, this friend of Noctis that should be nothing in the big scheme of actions to come but has gained a new kind of meaning to you that you’re not able to explain. It shouldn’t matter that you’ve seen him at his worst, alone in his room, clawing at his wrist and bawling his eyes out because he knows, on a minimal level, that he is not like his peers, will never be like them as long as that barcode stays on his skin. It shouldn’t matter you’ve seen him at his best, by the prince’s side, laughing and snapping shots after shots. It shouldn’t matter that you’ve seen the walking contradiction he is, that you’ve noticed the ways in which his very being defies logic and expectations. His opposing nature: a blend of positive and negative, his low self esteem versus his obnoxious need to play everyone’s clown in order to make them happy, his forgetfulness versus his attentiveness, his happy demeanor versus his darker side that shies from the light (afraid of not deserving it), the skeletons in his closet versus his transparency, his dedication versus his overwhelming sense of uselessness… The fire of his soul that resists what fate may throw his way, holds on despite the world doing everything it can do to blow out his inner flame, unraveled something deep inside of you that is both ancient and new.

Precisely, it was this yearning for his soul that shook you to the seams of your rotten being (that frightened you) because Gods, everything would have been less complicated if only what you had felt for the boy was a craving for just the canvass and not what laid behind it, under it, the whispers hiding tucked in his curves and edges.

At first, you pretended you hadn’t known what he meant, what those feelings meant for you. At first you pretended it all began on that nameless coffee shop where your darkness had risen faced with the bait of his youthful embarrassment, his naïve innocence. At first, you pretended not to know your downfall had truly begun with one boy and the sound of his laughter.

A lazy Monday afternoon, the Prince of the prophecies sitting next to the focus of your attention who, in a moment, in the blink of an eye, threw his head back, tilted his neck in such a way the blazing star in the cloudless sky hit his silhouette just _right,_ just enough to accentuate the gleam of his golden hair and the shine of his pearl white teeth and his blood floored cheeks and his sparkling, squinted eyes. And in a moment, in the blink of an eye, your universe shattered. Tiny little pieces of yourself laid there in front of you, at your feet on the pavement because he laughed and you thought it was beautiful. The most beautiful thing to ever exist, you thought, as the deformities near his laughing lips (those hollowed zones of skin, the depressions where you had the itch to press kisses to) made an opportune appearance and it was a combination of that and the painful squeeze of something inside your chest that provoked a reaction so unexpected within you, caused you to want to drop to your knees (you never knelt before anyone, not even the Gods) and make some space for yourself in between the opening of his legs and-

And.

  _You Were Reborn._

That afternoon, for a few hours, in an almost empty street, alone with both feet planted on the sidewalk, stood a man who was not Ardyn Izunia. A stranger. Someone you had been once upon a time when you still had faith, when you had looked at the expansion of Lucis around you with a feeling akin to fondness. When things like hatred, revenge and disdain for humanity had no place in your vocabulary.

The worst is that this stranger felt himself falter not at the sight of milky skin or obscene displays, but at a simple smile, a simple laugh that was enough to destroy him and bewitch him on the spot.

Thus, bewitched he stood and bewitched he inhaled with only sight the boy and his laugh and captured him in a moment of pure bliss.

Thus, bewitched and bitter, his following reaction was to curse the unexpected show of beauty and to loathe fervently the cause for this division of the self.

He grinned and pushed a stray lock of hair out of his face. You watched him give the Lucian heir a shy look-still smiling, always smiling-from beneath his long golden lashes.

Thus, you ached and hated him in equal measure for this, whatever this was supposed to be, was never meant to be.

* * *

 

The day you followed him home, watched him undress-thirsty eyed and thirsty minded-and kissed the mark that bound him to you inevitably, was a day you felt no hatred for him. Was a day where you woke up with the need to absorb him and pull him inside your ribcage, cover him and protect him in that cavity in which that graceless organ that caused more trouble than what it was worth throbbed carelessly and free of reason. Caress his cheeks and pale skin with the ends of your pointed bones.

This was not always the case; this was not always the rule. These tender occasions, these tender musings weren’t to last either given that more often were the days you wanted to strangle him,-how easy he would break, how easy he would tear beneath your hands; he was so thin, so lithe compared to you, it would be child’s play to wrap long, angry phalanges around his pharynx and squeeze oh so slowly and watch the fight, the fire, the flame fade from the blue orbs that haunted you even in dreams-push that ridiculous pretty face to the closest surface and smash it against it just to see the delicious red flow and mar the previous pure whiteness. See the proof of your own strength; see that you were stronger than temptation, that you were not some mindless tool that yielded to weakness-because that is what he was, a weakness, and a distraction you could not afford to lose yourself in. Not now when you were finally so close to your goal.

The boy was expendable, you knew, and you were smarter, untouchable, uninterested in such common longings. There was no time to waste on freckles and teary eyes.

Therefore, one day, you decided to put an end to him.

* * *

 

 

 Ignis Scientia. Formal attire from head to toes, sun glinting on the surface of his expensive glasses. Prompto Argentum, your confusion and the bane of your existence, standing next to him, fidgeting under the unwavering sunlight, blushing and stuttering his way through a recollection of events that worsened the sudden headache by your temple, made you think of oily liquid sliding down your face, blue and green veins changing to ebony, and the empty sensation that was rejection and betrayal put together in one package as the world you knew turned its back on you.

 _I kissed him_ , Prompto said, _I kissed him and he kissed me back_. Images of creatures that hid in abandoned corners assaulted you. His shining 0face torn apart like a painting, so easily destroyed using just your hands.

 _yI loved it_ , Prompto said, _I loved every second of it, his hands on me and my hands on him_. Images of those pretty hands, those long delicate boned hands crushed to bits. To unfixable bits. His perfectly trimmed nails cracked and bleeding showing the raw flesh protected by them, the bones of his knuckles breaking through the skin, bones and more bones jagged and pointing and smashed to pieces, his skin ripped to shreds and covered in endless amount of blood. Yes, those hands that for now have not allowed you to touch them, yet have let other’s filthy touch to taint them, shall not look beautiful again. For anyone if it can’t be you the one to adore them.

 _Our tongues met, Ignis! Astrals, I never imagined-_ Picturing his lovely tongue pierced by a knife and hung like a trophy by your bedside gave you shivers. The want, the ownership and the disgust all encountered themselves in you.

_I think I might love him._

_I think I might have loved him my entire life._

A red line crossing his neck from one side of the jaw to the other. Rivulets of liquid spilling down his unresponsive body, meeting halfway with the river of red originated from the wide gap on his abdomen; flaps of skin pulled back to reveal the purple inners, the no longer functioning lungs, intestines and other organs composing a mesh of useless parts. You would daringly let your hands disappear among the mounds of flesh and feel the moist texture of the mechanisms that constructed the boy that had breathed and charmed you with his every breath.

 _His Highness’s feelings might not be as opposed to you as you might think, Prompto,_ said the future advisor, certain as the passage of time. The shadows festering in your marrow, the daemons and dangerous things residing in all of you cells, clamored and protested and twisted, unsatisfied, at the confident claim the man made. And it was then you knew you were acting nonsensical, stupidly, like a blind man trying to cross a bridge with no ledges.

Prompto smiled, rubbed the back of his neck in both embarrassment and self pity.

You knew then you had to kill him.

* * *

**Your heart, my dear, I will remove it gently from your chest. Carefully, I will hold it, the way I would have held you had you given me the chance. Had you given me the time to prove you how mistaken you are in choosing him. Your heart, yes, your lying, cheating, weak, fragile heart will I grab and care for with these haunted fingers that have desired for nothing but to touch that uplifting of lips that has enchanted them since day one.**

**And when I have it in my grasp, this organ responsible for pumping life to every sacred inch of your sinuous body: I will sink my canines into your soft tissue, the tissue of your heart, and I’ll consume you so you shall never not recognize the pain you caused me. I will eat your heart and make you relive in soul and flesh the burn of this love I’m condemned to carve on that place I was not meant to mark.**

**You heart, then, my life, my divine temptation, will rest in my belly and fuse with everything that is me, and you’ll no longer have an excuse to reject the one that longs for you the most.**

 

* * *

 

 

The day you decided to put an end to his life was the worst day you could have possibly chosen to get the deed done.

Never in a million years had you imagined you would encounter a sight alike the one that slapped you literally and metaphorically in the face the minute you walked in-unannounced and undetected.

Again, you were blindsided. Again, you were taken by surprise and the most ironical fact of it all is that it shouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest. As you had insisted too many times on a regular basis, Prompto was normal and simple. Your everyday teenager that did the usual teenage stuff. You knew the nature of these actions since you had even smelt and felt the essence of them, _his_ particular essence clinging to every corner of the room during those times you had first traced his steps back home: the smell of arousal and hurried relief often tied to the awkward phase of adolescence.

You knew this.

It shouldn’t have knocked out the breath out of your chest the way it did when you set foot inside the room and got an eyeful of bare youth. Of everything Prompto. Vulnerability and sultriness had never been as quite entwined with each other as they did the instant you posed determined eyes on the familiar shape of his body. To see him sprawled on the bed, his pajama pants bundled at his ankles, his right hand inside his cotton briefs-that had hung by a thread around his hips, showing supple flesh and blonde pubes- running up and down his flushed length and his other hand pushing his worn t-shirt up a slim torso as it went, revealing uncharted lands of milky white you had burned in memory, stopped when tips of fingers approached the area close to that rosy bud you had almost dared to swallow one night (driven mad by desire and anger); it was mesmerizing. It was sickening and it was a torturous betrayal, the throbbing below your navel as you drank in the sweat pooling in the boy’s own navel, as you saw the tremors shaking his boyish frame from the hasty onslaught of his nipples and hardening arousal.

You felt your entire life overflow and bleed right there on the floor of his bedroom when you unexpectedly caught his delirious face, in the throes of passion and illusion, his red lips and red cheeks and unfocused orbs and hair in a wild disarray fanned on the pillow cushioning his head and you thought yourself crazy, thought yourself insane mad and rabid because once more, submerged in human weakness, you wanted to close the wretched distance separating you from his panting mouth and drink in his muffled moans, consume his short gasps, get on your knees and devour the heat accumulating in between his thighs.

_Eat him fully and candidly, his pleased sounds as a testament of who was doing him in. Of who was making him **feel like a man**._

Knees trembled and throat dried just like the outskirts of Insomnia. Prompto turned his face to the left, angled it unknowingly in your direction and your hands itched for closure, needing to trace the sinfully beautiful features cast in the yellow light of poor illumination. The hand molesting his nipples slid down to help her partner in crime to slip past his lanky legs his underwear and pants; these then were thrown aside but you paid them no mind. How could you focus on anything else beyond the tantalizing opening of legs uncovering his most private areas, the twitching pink hole that was just begging to be filled by you and only you? Iron will was what kept you grounded where you stood and away from the treasure you wished to claim more than the throne itself. Firm you remained even as Prompto suctioned on his index, middle and ring finger-his mouth a pretty picture closing around them, you could almost imagine it was your cock that he sucked fervently-and when the fifteen year old deemed them wet enough, he shoved them unmercifully hard inside his hungry cavity, letting out a beautiful sob accompanied by his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

And that was it. You were gone. You were everywhere and nowhere, lost in the maze of his pleasure mixed with your own, wrapped around his calves, stuck on the smooth soles of his feet, hidden in the gaps between his toes, enfolded by every inch that composes the boy in the coffee shop, the Niflheim reject, the class joker, the boy behind the camera and the Prince’s best friend. **_Prompto Argentum._**

His name, a prayer on the tip of your tongue that needed to be released. His lewd presence the religion and you, the faithful devotee, moved to the verge of tears at the peak of Nirvana, possessed by something greater than the sum of its parts. **_Be mine, let me in, and swallow me in the depths of your forbidden beauty-_** there was a sea of poetry you were dying to tell him, a sea of poetry yearning to be tattooed on any path of visible skin. Desire became you, and you became desire and the loathing from within swelled in agitation disguised as indignation.

This was insanity. Pure, unadulterated insanity.

There was zero logic, no reason to justify your actions, your thoughts, the desperate manner in which your human body longed to answer the call made by the tempting silhouette on the mattress emitting the _sweetest sounds_ you had ever had the pleasure of listening. _The sweetest_.

Was this how one lost their mind and rationality? Because of a smile (those smiling lips swollen and open in forms and shapes), because of his glazed eyes, because of his freckled skin where the blood concentrating beneath its fine layer turned it from ivory into carmine pink, because of his normally cheerful voice pitched lower due to stimulation?

Or was it because of how you betrayed yourself in letting cheap thrills take control over you? Because you allowed your impenetrable walls to crumble, and subsequently let yourself feel a stab of jealousy, possessiveness, hatred (so much hatred), pain and a myriad of other emotions when Prompto came at last-three fingers up his round ass and hand squeezing the head of his wet cock-but not with your name falling sensuously off his mouth, no, not yours but _his_. The thief, the undeserving royalty, the spoiled brat, the nondescript, boring, stupid, clueless plain Noctis; that was the name the holy creature climaxed with, shaking and reddened thighs, white streaks decorating the hint of a six pack.

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for the teenager to fall asleep after his orgasm, he didn’t even care to pick up his discarded clothes or wipe the mess he made on himself. Covers thrown off, exposed and unassuming underneath the eerie gleam of the moonlight, he let his eyes close. Naked, free to touch if you gathered your courage and permitted yourself to extend a palm and start on a journey through that virgin, unconquered land that was the unexplainable object of your desires.

Instead, shame burning like a blaze, you walked towards the unsuspecting boy. _Hatred, hatred, hatred_ was a mantra repeating itself over and over. How dare this meaningless-this mere pawn reduce you to the level of common folk? How dare he force you to be a slave of carnal needs? And how could you, with no logical reason, with nothing to back this mindless desire, fall in awe of such an unordinary human?

**Damn him!**

Thousands of years you have walked on Eos, you’ve seen thousands of years of human evolution, experienced them to the brink-and every action, every decisive moment has led you here, to this forsaken instant, this frozen moment in time where you find yourself at a loss for words, a loss for witty comments, a loss of rational thought. Feeling much more painfully human than what you had been during that first lifetime before your fall from grace. In a simplified version: a man standing in the room of the boy he likes, the boy he feels raw affection for, the boy that makes his palms sweat, his face flush, his heart soul and his soul ignite. The boy capable of unraveling all of his layers, to the very bottom of his wretched self.

And it’s this knowledge, this sudden realization of how truly human you still are, how a mere child wields such immense power over you, that is what causes your blood to boil.

 _Kill him,_ the voices whisper in the quiet air, close to your ear while you tower above the unconscious Prompto and you think with disgust of that occasion you had felt so much adoration and plain need for _this thing_ that you had grabbed his dainty wrist, the marked one ~~your wrist~~ and tasted the beat of his pulse with hungry lips, wanting to stake a claim on him. On everything he owned and everything he had, and everything he knew and everything he was.

 _Mine,_ you had promised _, Soon you will be mine._

Now there you were again, with a different kind of mindset (your body in the purgatory of desire, blood situated downwards, heat gathered everywhere, a familiar tightening of your pants and your brain irate at the prospect of regressing to the primal origins of humanity as a species).

 _Kill him. End him. Erase him._ You remembered all those times you had wanted to destroy him rather than love him. You remembered the instances where you had imagined his bloody demise at your own hands. You remembered feverish dreams of his severed head mounted on your wall and his body, the core of endless disasters, set on your dining table as a main course you planned to enjoy thoroughly, from his toes to his lonely neck without a head to support. You remembered and could almost savor the salty tang of blood, the particular scent that belonged to Prompto alone, the flavor of crude meat. You would consume him raw, nothing to undermine or overpower the aroma that could only be his.

With this memories present, intimately eloping with the murderous voices, you raised your hand, ready to strike, and felt the tendrils of darkness expand around you.

As if he was somehow able to sense the new dangerous atmosphere, the blond shivered and turned in his sleep; so now the moonlight hit him straight on his features clouded by sleep.

The hand ceased motion.

You faltered.

You swallowed.

It was like a bomb. Like a grenade exploding inside a closed room. His golden hair framed his narrow face like a halo, making more pronounced his angelic characteristics. The arc of his high cheekbones possessed a rosy hue to them. The small trail of brown dots, on top of his perfect nose, that stretched towards his cheeks. His closed eyelids-you were aware that under them laid the most expressive eyes you had ever encountered, an open book, his emotions, everything he felt displayed clearly in the blue reflective glass of his irises. The slightly uneven cupid bow of his upper lip, the almost imperceptible curvature of it indicating the clue of a smile. Against your will and better judgment, this made you want to chuckle-of course Prompto would be the kind of person that smiled even in dreams.

You drew the boy’s visage with your eyes and before them the pictures of what you had seen of Prompto's life right until this moment played like a movie. His laments, his cries, his tears, his smiles, his laugh (that laugh, the very first one, the one that counted, the one that changed everything, that made you different), his joy, his happiness, his sadness, his depression, his love, his friendship, his affection, his trust and his guilt. You saw it all. The expression he wore the day he scored a twenty in a test at school after so long, his crestfallen face when he was rejected in a photo studio, his passion evident wherever you looked if he so much saw a camera, his grimace the day he fell of a tree trying to rescue a cat and dislocated his ankle as a result, his crying face as he tried to destroy the proof of his origins with his nails, his full body blush that showed up only when Noctis merely looked his way or when he did his best to engage pretty girls, his anxiety, his nervousness, his divine face as he stuffed himself with food, his unguarded and laidback attitude when he spent time with his friends….

His laugh, his beautiful laugh. The most precious thing in the world, his row of perfect teeth and his innocent face that day. And the thought of losing that forever, losing permanently each and every emotion you had ever observed transpiring on that face that drove you to the edge of madness and simultaneously you couldn’t help but-

You faltered.

And that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and please don't forget to comment!!!! Comments give me life.


End file.
